


Kiss Me Like You Mean It

by freedomworm



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Slash, major cussing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-06
Updated: 2012-04-06
Packaged: 2017-11-03 04:16:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freedomworm/pseuds/freedomworm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Julian basically hates the world and Josh is probably the only one as screwed up as him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Me Like You Mean It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rosenfall](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Rosenfall).



> Disclaimer: If I owned Marvel or the X-Men, there would be very little het couples in the Marvel Universe. [Insert big evil grin]
> 
> A/N: A story I’ve kinda been thinking about doing… just didn’t have any motivation until Rosenfall said (s)he was looking for it on the x_slash comm on LJ. Seriously people, why isn’t there more Hellion slash? No one wants to cross X-23, huh? I swear I only know of one person who writes slash for him. It’s a bit unsettling. 
> 
> A/N #2: There’s a short scene in here inspired by a fantastic piece of art by Autumn-Sacura on DeviantArt. It’s seriously barely there… unless you’ve seen the picture.
> 
> A/N #3: Sorry if this isn’t what you were hoping for. I shy away from sex scenes like it’s the plague. I’m just not capable of writing it. It’s partly because I lack the maturity to do so without giggling nervously and looking over my shoulder every ten seconds and it’s partly because I find it extremely awkward to write.

X-Men are pros at dealing. Friends die; we deal with it. Mutant virus? No problem. We’ll deal with it, find a cure.

            Bastion? We dealt with that son of a bitch, too.

The pain is barely there anymore, and I am so past dealing with it. Physically, I can deal with not having any arm past my elbows. I’m a telekinetic. Picking things up or itching my nose is not a problem, even without arms.

            But eventually, you start to miss the feeling of touch. It’s about sometime around the end of the first month when you would do anything if it meant you could brush your fingertips across something.

            I miss being able to scratch with my own hand. I miss having fingernails to bite. Shit, I miss having my own fist to punch someone with.

            Don’t look at me like that. I know I’m not the only person who’s lost a limb in battle, but I’m the only one who has a fucking telekinetic force that messes with prosthetic arms. So fuck you, world.

            I am Hellion. I’m Julian Keller and I’m supposed to have it all.

Why don’t I have anything anymore?

 

…

 

Being an X-Man is barely a lifestyle anymore. It’s more like a chore. We were all young and innocent, once. At least, compared to how we are now. It wasn’t that long ago. You know, I’m not even legal drinking age yet.

            We’ve changed, a lot. We’ve been turned into little Scott Summers in our own way. I don’t remember the last time I smiled. Did you know, just this morning, I flew up to the third floor balcony and thought about letting myself go? I wondered in what order my bones would break; what people might say at my funeral.

            Hilarious, right? I considered killing myself.

I laughed, too.

            Don’t worry. I know how thin my sanity is being stretched. Okay, I guess you should worry, then.

Then again, if there’s one person who’s possibly gone farther off the deep end than I have, it’s the guy who’s standing next to me.

            …Why is Josh standing next to me?

 

I glance sideways. When did he fucking _get_ there?

            He’s wearing white, like he usually does. Why does he wear white? He looks like a ghost. He looks like he’s dead. Some freaking bringer of death or something, anyway.

            He was on X-Force. He worked with the big guns; reported directly to Scott, just like Wolverine. I hear he cured Laura of the Legacy Virus. Why in the fuck, then, didn’t he heal me?

            Two stupid arms, that’s all I asked for, and he couldn’t do it. Can’t do it.

On the list of people I blame for my fucking miserable existence, Joshua Foley is surprisingly high up there.

            “Hi.” He says.

“Piss off.” I reply.

“Some of the others are getting worried. About you.”

            Oh yeah? I scoff at that, “Who’s worried about what?”

“Everyone. Even Santo. You’ve been cutting yourself off from everything.”

“That’s funny. I didn’t realize that everyone else could have alone time except for me.” I say.

            “No one but Rogue and Logan have alone time for more than three months.” He replies. “So what’s up?”

            “Do not try to be a freaking therapist, Foley.” I warn, “You and I are not close. You are the last fucking person I would want to talk to.”

“Who do you want to talk to? Cessily? Noriko?”

“Foley. Shut up.”

            “Is this about Laura?”

I have a strange urge to start laughing. And not in the good way. “Cold.” I snap.

            “Your arms?” He tries again.

_Don’t talk to me about that. Don’t you dare start talking about that._

He does anyway.

“It’s not that bad. Nemesis said it actually benefited you. Your powers are a lot stronger now.” he says.

            Goddammit, I _know_ that.

“Okay,” he says calmly, “You could just tell me what’s going on.”

            Why the hell is he like that? When did he get so freaking peaceful? He had anger management issues less than five years ago. I remember when it took one sentence to set him off. _But now you’re just the better man, huh? What’s it like, knowing you’ll always be the golden one?_

            I turn to look him in the eye. “I. Do. Not. Want. To. Talk to you.” I hiss through my teeth. He stares back at me somewhat blankly. It’s hard to tell. His eyes are white. It makes his face look expressionless.

            _I remember when your skin was white and your hair was the blonde, golden color. Now your hair is nearly white and your skin is gold. Does your skin feel like flesh, or does it feel like metal?_

            I remember his eyes used to have color. Were they brown or blue?

I think they were blue.

            “I don’t want to talk to you, either. Victor sent me. Well, I guess Santo sent me, technically.” He says.

“Yeah? Why you?”

            “You’re better at talking to people you hate.”

 _Fuck you_.

            I'd give him the finger at this point, but I can't, so I just climb onto the rail of the balcony and jump. I fall for a second or two before I catch myself. It doesn’t take long before I’ve flown to the other side of the building, away from him, but not far enough away.

            Mr. Beaubier always told us during flight class that our abilities could make us feel free. I’ve never felt more trapped in my life.

 

…

 

“Come on, guys,” Pixie says, “We’ve only got one thing on this list.”

“Well it’s not exactly like we’ve had deep conversations with him before.”

“Victor!”

“What? It’s true.”

“Why are we doing this again?” Noriko asks.

“We’re concerned!”

“Julian can take care of himself.”

            “Yeah,” Santo says, “But he’s been spaced out.”

“Manic-depressive.” Anole adds. “Like, first he was blowing up in everyone’s faces and _that_ was understandable, but now he’s just like… I don’t know –a zombie.”

“Zombies are dead, though.”

“Dude, that is totally not what I mean.”

“What did you mean, then? Zombies are dead.”

“Yeah, but I meant that part where zombies are like, out of it.”

“No, they’re just dumb.”

“-Hey guys, can we remember what’s we’re talking about, just for once?”

 

 

            None of them realize I’m sitting in the next room, able to hear every single word they say. They’re talking about me. They want to delegate someone else to try and ‘talk’ to me. This is stupid.

            _Leave me alone_.

“You know what, Victor, why don’t you go talk to him, then?”

“What?!”

            “You could use your gay voodoo powers on him and make him happy. Gay used to mean happy.”

“You feel really proud for knowing that, huh, Santo?”

“Everyone knows that.”

“In which case your comment was highly offensive,”

            “Stop bickering!”

 

 _Shut up_.

            I wish they’d leave. I’ve got two options. Stay here, have to listen to them talk, or leave, and run into them on my way out. Confronting them is becoming the increasingly appealing choice. If only to see their looks of surprise.

            “Josh, what did he say again?”

“Mm, fuck off, I don’t want to talk to you, blah blah…” He replies nonchalantly.

            I can almost hear him shrugging. I feel the odd urge to snort. You have to appreciate insensitivity sometimes.

“He’s depressed, end of story. We’ve all been there at one point, I don’t see why we’ve got to bother him.”

            “Julian Keller doesn’t do depressed, that’s why!”

“Megan, I’ve been where he is. You guys should stop trying to get him to talk. Remember what a failure that was for Piotr?”

            “Josh is right. Yes, I believe he is.”

“Thank you, Ruth.”

“Oh my God! You guys all agree with him?”

There’s a silence.

            “Great, conversations over. And I don’t know about you, but I’ve kinda got places to be.”

“Yes. Excuse me, please.”

            I listen as everyone begins to disperse. I want to bring my legs up to my chest and wrap my arms around them, but I can’t. So just sit on the ground in the corner of the room with my leg straight out in front of me and my ‘hands’ lying next to me. They’re more like a less bulky version of Noriko’s gloves than hands, though.

            The door of the room opens suddenly and Josh pokes his head in. “Thought so.” He says and enters, closing the door behind him.

I consider glaring at him, but at the last second I don’t quite feel up to it. “How did you know I was here?”

            “I can just tell. It’s a thing. Kind of how telepaths can sense minds, except on a genetic level.” He replies, sliding down against the wall until he arrives on the ground next to me.

            “I thought you were all for leaving me alone.” I say.

“I suggested that _they_ should leave you alone.” He corrects. “I never included myself.”

“What do you want?”

            “It _is_ the arms, isn’t it?” He says.

“Foley. Don’t go there.”

“I tried by best. You were out for most of it, and all I could do was stop the bleeding.”

            “Stop talking.” I say. “Listen carefully, _Elixir_. I do not give two fucks what you have to say”

“-No!” He shouts, composure finally shattering, “You listen to _me_ , Keller! I can’t heal what isn’t there! I fucking tried for hours. It was a failure for me –do you know how it made me feel? I’ve brought people back to life before, I’ve cured cancer and I couldn’t even fix your fucking arms!”

            His face is inches from mine. I’m staring into white eyes. Somehow, he’s managed to look angry. Were his eyes blue or brown before? The question is plaguing my mind, and at the most inopportune time, it seems.

            It’s a long staring match.

He blinks. “Say something.”

“I have nothing to say.”

            He doesn’t move an inch. “Find something to say.”

“What color were your eyes?” It comes out as a whisper. I can hardly believe it just came out at all.

            The corner of his mouth tugs upward. “Blue.” He says.

_I thought so._

            “Why? Been thinking about them?” He grins.

“Half of my mind is preoccupied with them, yeah.”

            “What’s the other half on?”

“Wondering what would be the most efficient way to get you out of my face.” I reply.

“You could ask.” He suggests.

“I could.” I agree as I shove him away telekinetically. “Or I could just tell you to fuck off.”

            “I’ll take that into consideration.” He says.

“Did all those comas you’ve been in mess up your thinking process? It wasn’t a suggestion.” I snap.

            He’s all up in my face for the second time a moment later. “The comas probably did do something. Go outside. Talk to the others.” He says.

“Fuck you.” I growl.

            “Kiss me.” He breathes.

Both of our eyes widen as he says it. Neither of us was expecting it.

            “What the fuck, Foley?”

He puts a hand on the back of my head, leans forward and kisses me. His skin feels like Cessily’s. Smooth like metal, but warm like flesh.

            Neither of us is inexperienced, but the first kiss between us is only an exchange of saliva and a gnashing of teeth. I bite his lip as he pulls away.

            There’s a strange look on his face. I think he’s trying to appear triumphant.

“Not a word, got it?” I whisper.

“Can we make-out?” He asks.

            “Fuck you.”

“Oh yeah, pull my hair, huh? That’s okay, I like it rough.”

            “What did I say?” I very near growl in his ear.

“I know,” He says, climbing onto my lap like Sophia used to, “Comas.” He covers my mouth with his own and runs his tongue over my lower lip. “Thinking process.”

            “No, Foley. Quiet.” I remind him.

“This is hot.”

            I pull his head back and look him in the eye. “You wanna make-out? Shut the hell up.”

He shuts up.

…

 

I wake up the next morning in Josh’s room. I lie on the bed next to him, unmoving. The mattress moves as he stirs awake and sits up.

            Josh groans sleepily and shifts on the bed before lying down again. He slings anarms over my chest and rests his head on my shoulder.

_So he’s one of those people._

            That’s only a bad thing if it’s going to be one of _those_ morning afters. Did we have sex? That is one seriously stupid question. Of course we fucking did it.

            It was fucking fantastic. This doesn’t make us or _me_ gay, bi or anything like that. I don’t do labels like Anole. And it wouldn’t be gay even if I did do labels. It can’t be gay if there’s no feelings involved.

            Josh thinks I’m asleep.

Why does he like kissing me so much? He must like it more than any other person I’ve ever been with. Well, maybe not that chick from… No, he likes kissing the most.

            “You’re awake.” Josh mumbles against my collarbone.

“I know.”

            “’Morning, Keller.”

“Foley. I do not need to hear your voice this early in the morning.” I grumble, because shit, _you can be as sexy as hell. Until you start talking. Then I remember why we’ve never been on great terms._

            “I have a spare toothbrush you can use.” He says, hopping right out of bed. He skips across the room without a shred of shame and pulls on a pair of boxers before disappearing into his bathroom.

            I spread out across the bed and stare at the ceiling. I’ve got to stop doing things without thinking about how it might affect my goddamn world.

“We have a Danger Room session in an hour, you know. You’ve skipped the last six. Are you going to come to this one?” Josh asks from the bathroom.

            “Probably not.” I say, sitting up on the bed. I scan the floor for my clothes and manage to locate my boxers at the foot of the bed. I take a few minutes trying to find my left hand, but it’s eventually found under the bed.

            When I enter the bathroom, he hands me a tooth brush and a half used tube of tooth paste. We brush our teeth silently and spit at the same time.

            I dress and leave while he’s taking a shower. When I get back to my room, I drop onto my bed and groan miserably.

_Fuck my life._

            Oh wait. It already is fucked up.

…

 

“All I’m saying is that you’re putting those where people will be walking…”

“Well where do _you_ suggest putting it?”

“Not right there. People will trip over it.”

            “How about right _here_ , then?”

 _Thud_.

“JESUS CHRIST! Shit –ow –that was my fucking foot!”

“Was it? Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t see it.”

“You son of a _bitch._ ”

            I sigh as I watch Iceman and Mr. Beaubier argue below. Usual bickering. Nothing new. Are they just keeping up pretenses, or is this fight genuine? Sometimes I can’t tell anymore. I feel like everyone’s just going through the motions when in reality, it’s usually just _me_ going through the motions.

            “Mr. Keller.”

_Miss Frost._

            She sits on the balcony next to me.

If she falls, will she turn into her diamond form? Will that keep her from dying, or will I just catch her? What if I don’t?

            “As lovely as it is to hear you’ve started pondering your every move,” she says, “It’s come to my attention that it’s interfering with the rest of the team dynamics.”

_English, please. My vocabulary is not that sophisticated._

            “You’re blanking out, my dear. And that can be deadly for your team mates during missions.”

“I haven’t been on an actual mission since Utopia.” _Before I lost my arms._ “So it shouldn’t matter. How can I get someone killed on a mission I’m not on?”

            “You need to clean up your act.” She says.

“Or what? Will I get kicked out? I’m already off the active roster.”

“You are perfectly healthy, Julian. Your powers have never been more in your control. I honestly cannot see why you’re still moping around.” She snaps.

            I stare at my mechanical hands which lie lifelessly in my lap. “Do you know how long it took me to get coordinated with these stupid things? The first two weeks, I woke every morning forgetting that half my arms are gone. I screamed one time when I saw myself in the mirror.”

            “That’s called vanity, Mr. Keller.”

“Sometime I would wake up in the middle of the night. I dreamed that my skin was burning away. You weren’t there. I had to watch as my arms were incinerated. One second they were there. Then they weren’t.”

            “It’s PTS. We have counselors to help you deal with that.”

“Don’t be so blasé, okay?” I can’t help but shout. “I’m fine! I mean, I should be fine. But I’m not. It’s just how it is.”

            “That’s not how it has to be.” She says. Still snappish. “I’m going to request that you go on the next mission.”

“You just said I would get someone killed.”

“I trust that you won’t.”

            It’s a threat. How lovely.

“Indeed.” She stands up and walks away, disgruntled.

            _Conversation evidently did not go as smoothly as planned, huh?_

 

            I look back down. The area is deserted, except for one person who stands directly in my view as he stares back up at me. He has his hands in his pockets and there’s this look on his face that says _‘_ quit being an asshole and fucking do something with your life again.’

 

            I glare at him, but he looks unaffected as he disappears under the balcony and into the building.

 

…

 

 

I haven’t put on my uniform for a long time. Well, it’s actually a costume, but that just sounds fucking juvenile, so I call it a uniform. I have two pairs hanging in my closet at the moment, and I’m supposed to be putting it on for a mission.

            Right now.

My uniform is white pants, white shirt, and red jacket. It doesn’t seem to fit me anymore. I stare at myself in it for a long time.

            No fucking way am I wearing it.

I shake my head to myself and change once more.

            Back when Legion messed with all of our heads, I was part of the main team. I was serious, amazing shit. And I did not wear a white and red uniform. The Hellions look is getting old. The squads were broken up a bit ago, and sure, Cessily and Santo still wear their red and white uniforms, but I’m not going to anymore.

            I dig through my closet until I find an old pair of black pants. I wore green in Legion’s world, but the truth is I do not even own a pair of green pants.

I slip into the black pants quickly and fasten a belt around my waist. All of my old uniform tops have sleeves, so they are all out of the option. I fixup some old armor and soon I’ve got two metal pads over my shoulders that are set in place by a strap horizontally across my chest.

            I look like a douchebag or maybe more like the bad guy, but that’s okay.

The rest of the team is already in the hangar when I arrive. The roster assembled for the mission are random people from various rosters; me, Victor, Iceman, Mr. Beaubier, Santo, Pixie and Elixir. I am surprised to see him standing off to the side, arms crossed over his black, X-Force uniform. Frost didn’t mention him in the mental debriefing.

            “Thank you for keeping us, Mr. Keller,” Northstar snaps as everyone heads into the blackbird (it’s not _the_ Blackbird, but it’s one of the older back-ups).

“I had trouble finding a top I could wear properly.” I reply sweetly, waving my gloves around in a _what can I do?_ sort of way. Unfortunately, Northstar isn’t one of those people who tiptoes around what others think to be touchy subjects.

            “Next time, get ready earlier.” He says.

We all strap into the blackbird, which Iceman has opted –as he’s got X-Man seniority over the rest of us –to fly.

            I strap into the seat behind Northstar, who sits shotgun. I glance over at him when Josh drops into the seat next to me. He stares at me for a moment and makes some not-so-subtle elevator eyes. He frowns before turning to face forward.

            The blackbird takes off, and Iceman and Northstar bickering endlessly. Northstar’s convinced Iceman will make us crash. He’s got a tight grip on both of his armrests, which is ridiculous because if the plane takes a dive, he can fly away anyway. I personally believe that Pixie flies the jets much worse than anyone else, even Iceman.

            “So teach,” Santo calls from the row next to me, “What’s the crisis?”

Victor puts his face in his hand and grumbles something.

            It is then that I suddenly notice the then tension in everyone’s postures except for Josh. I hate to admit it, but I’m glad Mr. Summers and Miss Frost didn’t assign any other people to this mission (whatever it was about. I haven’t been told. Well maybe I have, but I don’t recall it…). I’d hate to be stuck with Rogue or Magneto or _ugh_ fucking Madame I’m-better-than-all-of-you-because-I’m-the-mutant-Messiah.

            Good thing she’s off saving the world with her new A-list superhero team. What a self-righteous brat.

“A new organization called H.A.M.” Jean-Paul replies. “We’re just shutting them down before they get started.”

            “Ham?” Pixie repeats with a giggle.

“Humans Against Mutants.” Iceman says. “You really gotta applaud their creativity, huh?”

            “Ham,” Santo laughs, “This is gonna be so easy.”

 “New organizations usually have some of the biggest guns, though.” Victor grumbles.

“What did they do?” Pixie asks, “I mean, don’t we usually just, like, _ignore_ those haters?”

            “Like Victor says,” Northstar replies, “New organizations have the biggest guns. H.A.M has a surprisingly advanced team of scientists. We’ve heard that’s they’re developing a weapon that spreads the Cure through the air.”

“Uh… should we wear gas masks or something then? Just in case they shoot it at us?” Victor wonders.

            “It’s not completed yet.” Iceman assures him.

“ _Mon Dieu_! Eyes forward, Drake!” Northstar yells as the blackbird drops violently. Iceman looks forward again, seemingly unperturbed.

            I zone out as Mr. Beaubier rants at Iceman in both French and English.

The flight passes quickly and we’re soon descending upon a deserted field. There’s a forest about a mile away, which we head toward as soon as we step out of the jet. With no telepath on the team, we have to rely on comm units.  

            Iceman tosses a set to each of us and we quickly put them on. Or well, the others put them on quickly. I spend an extra three seconds trying to get mine fixed right. I have to turn it on with my gloves, because using my powers short circuits these sorts of fragile devices. Unfortunately, my makeshift hands (while _top_ of the freaking line, I’ve been assured) are still a little bulky.            

            This is all just my long, whiny way of saying I can’t press the damn button on my comm unit properly.

            Then Josh suddenly steps around Victor, who is walking two feet away, but still next to me. He takes the unit, turns it on and then puts it back on my ear like it’s no big deal.

            I glare at him.

This is so infuriatingly embarrassing. Not that he turned the unit on (okay, yeah, just a little), but that I couldn’t do it myself.

            I notice Pixie out of the corner of my eye looking at me and then at him and then at me again.

            _Let’s just get this goddamn mission over with._

 

…

 

I’m going to get a cramp –this I am sure of.

            The H.A.M have a base located in a valley just beyond the forest. Pixie, Iceman, Santo, Josh, and I are waiting for Northstar and Victor to return; they went to check H.A.M’s security (Northstar with his speed, and Victor with the camouflage thing he does, duh.). Once they return with some intel, we’ll do an X-Men group discussion thing, head out, and kick some asses.

            You’d think Miss Frost or Summers could’ve checked out the facility for us beforehand –it would definitely save some time –but no.

            “Two entrances on the building,” Victors says, hurrying over to us through the forest, “Three guards, five hidden cameras each. They’re heavily armed.”

“But,” Northstar says, appearing in a blur, “There’s an unguarded entrance half a mile away that leads to an underground tunnel.”

            Iceman looks around at all of us. “Let’s go.” He says. “Jean-Paul go in a head of us –check for security and possible traps.”

Northstar nods and disappears again.

            We head out. Or _in_ , but whatever.

Pixie does her little magic thing and poofs us into the tunnel. It’s dark and damp, but pretty clean. Northstar meets up with us and debriefs on the security measures (or lack thereof) that have been set.

            Everyone creeps through the tunnels quietly, except for Santo, who just kind of stomps around like the giant rock he is. It’s about a three minute walk, and at the end is a metal door. As Santo said, this is going to be easy. I mean, come on –a metal fucking _door_. It’s a matter of unscrewing the hinges telekinetically and setting the door down on the ground and we’re in as quiet as can be.

            Unfortunately, H.A.M isn’t as dumb as their name; they’ve set a video camera right across from the doorway. Iceman freezes it immediately, but there’s a chance we’ve already been seen.

            We hurry forward, down dimly lit halls, through doors and to a stairwell. This is where we split up; Northstar, Santo, and Josh go up while Iceman, Pixie, Victor and I go down.

            //Just a bunch of empty labs up here.// Josh says through the comms after a minute, //Doesn’t look like anyone’s really moved in, yet.//

            //That explains the lack of security.// Northstar adds.

Meanwhile, we’ve been walking down a hall. The stairwell went down two floors and then exited out into one, long, one-way hallway with glass, sliding doors at the end. Iceman sends Victor to go camouflage and run ahead to see what’s on the other side of the doors.

            He runs back over to us and whispers two words that send our blood boiling. We charge forward and Iceman slides into the room when the doors have still barely opened.

            We catch twenty or so men wearing H.A.M uniforms (a H.Y.D.R.A rip-off, to tell the truth) by surprise, and they barely have a chance to fire before they’re all being knocked out cold. Literally; Iceman freezes them.

            There are two fat scientists standing at an operation table, shaking with fright. Their subject is a green-skinned guy who looks like Victor, or would, if he ever let Santo chop off his limbs so they would grow back with armor.

            The subject is already dead.

“You guys should get down here if there’s nothing else up there,” Pixie whispers into her earpiece.

            Iceman orders us to spread out and check for any other mutants that might be being kept prisoners in the facility.

            We spread out to search the lab, which is about the size of the Danger Room, except with tall shelves of science-y books, lab equipment and operation tables.

            There’s not a lot of things to be found. There’s very little information of the computers, and most of the facility is unoccupied. It seems that H.A.M really hasn’t moved in yet. But then Santo kicks a desk in frustration, and it breaks, but the legs don’t topple over. They have been attached to the floor. It takes us seconds to find the panel that opens the wall to reveal a secret hall.

            The uniformed H.A.M soldier standing guard at the entrance is surprised to see us. He barely opens his mouth to yell before Northstar zooms forward and knocks him out with a punch across the face.

            The other soldiers come running anyway. They come out from rooms along the hall, and we let Santo take this one. He charges through the narrow hall, plowing down every guy in his path.

            Everyone rushes in after him.

The fighting is a blur. All I feel is adrenalin; all I hear is the blood pounding in my ears and guns being fired while their owners yell at us muties to die.

            The rooms are filled with dead mutants being tested on. I don’t even know how there can be so many mutants; they only just started manifesting again. And the soldiers just keep coming. A bullet grazes my arm and I turn and grab the shooter with a giant telekinetic fist. He’s dead in five seconds from lack of oxygen. Or actually, lack of his left lung, which I managed to rip out with my powers.

            _Don’t fucking look at me like that_.

Josh turns away and punches some other guy.

            I wasn’t trying to pull his lung out.

I was aiming for his heart.

            We punch, kick, and generally beat our way into the room at the end of all of the hallways. It’s a control room.

            It takes us all of twenty seconds of looking at the giant main monitor to realize they’re aiming a fucking missile at San Francisco, just big enough to blow up the estate X-Men headquarters currently rest.

            Victor smashes the last soldier’s face in while Northstar zips in and out of every room, grabbing the scientists and assistants before they can escape.

            Santo ties them all up with a metal desk he bends like putty.

“Okay,” Pixie says, staring at the monitors, “These guys do have the biggest guns.”

“Who’s your sponsor?” Iceman is yelling at the lab-coat guys. “Must be some helluva guy –to afford a motherfucking _missile_ and make sure no one finds out about it!”

            He’s pretty imposing, I have to admit. The H.A.M guys are trembling and stuttering out their I.D.Ks and pleading not to be killed.

“You’re all getting arrested for manslaughter, you psychopaths.” Iceman said.

            “And you’re not?” someone has the guts to challenge. He looks around the room at the fallen soldiers nervously.

“Self-defense.” Northstar says. “And most of them are, in fact, merely unconscious.”

            “I’ll contact Scott,” Josh says, looking around the place, “We should round up the soldiers and then put everyone somewhere. Keller can get their weapons and” his eyes widen and he dashes straight at me, pushing me to the ground. There’s the sound of gunfire. There’s the sound of a bullet ripping through flesh.

            We both tumble to the ground, a tangle of limbs.

A crunch of bone and a cry of pain signals Santo stepping on the gun arm of the soldier who was still conscious enough to shoot.

            I’m lying on the ground, pinned there by Josh. There’s a shocked expression on his face and his breathing is hitched. I push him off and onto his back.

            Iceman rushes over and kneels down across from me. He ices up his hands and grabs Josh’s pressing them over the wound on his side. “Come on, Josh, stay with us.”

            He’s surprisingly incompetent when he’s the one who’s been hurt.

“Focus, Foley!” I snap.

            He turns his head weakly so that I know his white eyes are staring at me.

I glare back.

            “Fuck,” He gasps and his entire body relaxes. His hands fall to his sides, revealing a healed wound. The only evidence that he’d been shot is the blood on his uniform, the whole in his shirt, and the bullet that is rolling away on the floor.

            “Jesus,” Iceman mutters with relief as he sits back on his heels.

Josh lies on his back, staring at the ceiling, no doubt still filled with the adrenalin and the echo of pain from the gunshot.

 

…

 

“A word, Mr. Keller,” Miss Frost calls as we file out of the room after debriefing.

            I pause, just a few feet away from the door. Victor and Pixie pass by me and close the door behind them.

“You did well,” she says.

            “I’m glad you approve.” I reply as scathingly as possible.

“You could be on the active roster,” Miss Frost says, “If you cleaned up your act a little more. You’re young, Julian. Bitterness at your age won’t help you.”

            I stare at her. If I don’t reply for long enough, she’ll get bored.

“Alright,” she holds up her hands like she’s surrendering to something. “Live however you want. Just remember you only have one life. Make it worth something.”

            I take that as a cue to leave. There’s no point in slamming the door behind me. It’s not really an anger thing anymore.

            There’s not much to do around the place when you don’t talk to people. But it’s a Friday, so everyone’s mostly gone out. I sit down in front of the television in the Rec Room and turn it on. And right on time –there’s a report on the recently thwarted mutant-hate group H.A.M broadcasting over CBS.

            The cushion on the couch next to me as someone else sits down, too.

_Oh my fucking god, you have to be joking._

“Don’t tell me to fuck off.” Josh says, “I just wanted to thank you.”

            “For what?”

“For telling me to focus. After that guy shot me. I was panicking. So thanks.”

            “Oh. You’re welcome, I guess.” I reply, turning to look at him.

He leans over and presses his lips against mine. When he sits back, there’s an amused look on his face.

            “I don’t like you, dude.” I tell him in reply to the look he’s giving me. ( _Kissing, did I mention he likes kissing?_ )

“Yeah, I know. I don’t really like you, either.” He shrugs. “But. You know, whatever.” He starts to stand up, but I suddenly feel the urge to grab him. So I do.

            But that’s just what the sneaky fucker wanted. He kisses back eagerly, exploring my mouth with his tongue, wrapping his arms around my neck. I can’t help but grin a little. Josh Foley is probably fucked up even more than I am, what with all the things he can do with his powers.

            I kind of like it. He knows what losing things feels like. He knows how to deal with it.

“Aw, come on! Seriously?” Someone says.

            We break apart abruptly and turn to the doorway. There’s a group standing there. Loa’s got a couple of DVDs in her hand and Victor’s holding a bowl of popcorn.

            Santo suddenly bursts out snickering. “There is _no_ way ‘no homo’ will get you two off the hook.” he says.

   


End file.
